


Who Is In Control?

by nonbinaryjamesbarnes (kittleimp)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Assassination, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Hearing Voices, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 01:46:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5849179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittleimp/pseuds/nonbinaryjamesbarnes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Human brains, when functioning in the standard fashion, do not process sounds which have no source. The Winter Soldier reminds himself of this whenever he hears that damn voice echoing in his head.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>You forgot me again, didn't you?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Is In Control?

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Control by Halsey. This fic was inspired by [Satisfactory](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5560948) by [amobisan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/amobisan/pseuds/amobisan), warning for dub-con and explicit material. There will not be either of those in this fic.
> 
> Finally, lots of love and hugs to [mapswindsor](http://mapswindsor.tumblr.com/) for the amazing beta work!

Human brains, when functioning in the standard fashion, do not process sounds which have no source. The Winter Soldier reminds himself of this whenever he hears that damn voice echoing in his head, and makes a note to alert the maintenance team to its presence - upon the mission’s completion, of course. Only reports that would endanger the mission are permitted while they are working. 

The problem is that the voice is never there when he first wakes up, so the Soldier never remembers that it exists until the maintenance team - always recognizable by their lab coats, no matter how his location changes - is finished doing the routine pre-mission examination. While they are checking him over, the Soldier takes note of his unfamiliar surroundings.

The first things he notice are the safe deposit boxes lining the wall, some still shut tight, while others hang open. There are dark holes in many of the boxes where locks are missing altogether. It was a bank once, apparently, but the room room is too dusty and dim to have been used at any point recently and Hydra would never store him in a public location, so the bank must have gone out of business some time ago.

Satisfied with his observations, the Soldier returns his focus to the maintenance team. They check his reflexes carefully, wary of the metal arm that serves as the Soldier’s most personal weapon, and then go through a familiar routine to evaluate his physical health. As always, he is perfectly healthy, even after spending what could have been anywhere from days to decades in cryostasis. It is only after they are finished that he hears it.

_You forgot me again, didn't you?_

Yes, he had, and he can’t help the cool rush of annoyance the floods his veins at the realization. The voice always speaks before he remembers it, and always with a smug curiosity that suggests it believes it has won something. It always sounds like his own, but just a touch higher, far more relaxed, and with just a touch of a Brooklyn accent. Even without his more specific memories intact, knowledge of this fact remains. What does not is the identity of the voice and the reason for its presence.

 _My name is James,_ the voice introduces itself, either anticipating his question or reading his mind. _And I’m not reading your mind, I’m literally in your head. Actually, you’re in my head, but it doesn’t really matter anymore._

The Soldier tightens his mouth into a thin line, pressing his lips together. He remembers now that the voice tends to be rather annoying as it provides constant commentary to the routine. For a brief moment, he considers telling the maintenance team about the voice speaking in his mind before he leaves for his mission, but his chest tightens with instinctive fear at the mere thought. Apparently telling isn’t an option.

 _If you tell them I’m here, they’ll try to take me out. Neither of us want that, I promise,_ the voice - James - explains.

 _What did you mean when you said that I am in your head?_ the Soldier asks, ignoring the attempt to convince him of a decision he has already made.

As he asks the question, the maintenance team orders him to stand up and holds out the clothing that he will be wearing for this mission. It is standard, just black clothing that will keep him hidden in the shadows, so he doesn’t give it much thought as he pulls it over his bare skin. Items that involve more thought, such as bulletproof vests and holsters, will come when he is given his weapons.

 _I mean that this was my body first,_ James tells him, and the Soldier can feel in his gut that it is the truth. Perhaps that means he has learned it before. Whatever the case may be, he finds no need to question it.

 _If this is your body, then why am I present?_ he asks instead, pulling the moisture-wicking shirt over his head and adjusting the opening around his metal arm to give him a full range of motion.

James falls silent, choosing not to provide an answer, but it doesn’t matter. The Soldier does not need James to provide him with a mission. Once he is dressed, he is handed a bullet-proof vest by a middle-aged man who is lacking one of the lab coats that the maintenance team wears.

_Aleksander Lukin, our handler._

The information is provided by James, but he chooses to remain silent beyond that, so the Soldier gives him no notice.

Lukin’s weathered, wrinkled face is a familiar sight, but the greying beard on his face is not. The Soldier notes that it must have been grown and groomed since his last mission, while ignoring James’ quick comment on their handler’s aging appearance. Apparently the question didn't put the snark man off for long. Lukin begins to speak while the Soldier shrugs into his vest and fastens the clasps properly.

“You have one target, level five. He will be in a car with his wife tonight, driving home from an event,” Lukin informs the Soldier in a thick Russian accent, handing him a heavy winter jacket to wear over the vest, one that also leaves his metal arm bare.

 _They still haven't fixed the overheating problem, then,_ James observes passively.

“What are your specifications?” the Soldier asks on instinct, speaking mechanically and pausing afterward for the answer.

“It needs to look like an accident. Do whatever it takes.”

An accident? Well, that takes guns out of the equation. No wonder he hasn't been supplied with a firearm. The Soldier nods.

“This is your target,” Lukin continues, and holds out a printed photograph of a man. A color photograph, he notes with mild interest - no, that's not him; the unexpected interest belongs to James.

_They've used color photographs for the last few missions. This must be the future, pal. Guess black and white just ain’t good enough anymore._

The Soldier finds the Brooklyn accent slipping into James’ voice mildly amusing. His own voice is an unremarkable American accent, one that is nearly impossible to place geographically, just as it should be. It becomes something of an inconvenience when he is on missions outside of America, but even though Russia is the first place that the Soldier can remember, his handlers were unable to train the American accent out of his tongue.

 _Not that you ever talk, ya creepy bastard,_ James comments bitterly, replying directly to the Soldier’s thoughts yet again.

Instead of dignifying the insult with a response, the Soldier focuses on the picture he has been handed. The man is somewhere in his 70s, that much is obvious from the sagging in his face and how his white hair has receded, leaving him with an overly-pronounced widow’s peak. Judging by the tailored, well-made suit, the man is wealthy. There is something about the well-groomed moustache, though... it continues to draw his eye, even as he attempts to memorize the rest of the photograph. In fact, the Soldier finds himself tracing the curve of the man’s jaw and wondering idly if they have met before.

 _Do I know him?_ he asks, hoping that his unwelcome guest will have an answer.

 _I don’t know,_ James admits and he Soldier can feel that he is similarly stumped.

“Am I familiar with this man?” the Soldier asks, this time directing the question outward.

“You may have been made aware of his existence due to his status, but you have never met him,” Lukin replies steadily, but his eyes linger on the Soldier as if he is searching for something. As he does, James’ panicked anger seeps into the Soldier’s consciousness.

 _You aren’t supposed to remember anything, you idiot!_ he seethes. _If they think you have memories, then they’ll perform maintenance. **They’ll take us back to the chair. ******_

As well-trained and loyal as he may be, the warning sends a shard of fear burying into the Soldier’s heart. The chair is unavoidable. After each successful mission, he is returned to it for maintenance; that much he knows even without all of his memories. However, he _is_ well-trained and loyal, so he waits patiently for Lukin to finish his observation and assumes that the handler’s sharp nod is approval to continue.

 _If I am not supposed to remember things, then why do you remember so well?_ the Soldier asks of James, though his focus remains on Lukin, who is now busy fiddling with a metal cart.

_A misunderstanding in the function of their brainwashing torture device, probably. I’m not supposed to know this stuff either; I’m not even supposed to exist. That’s why we don’t tell the handlers about me, yes?_

The answer is yes, they’ve established the need for discretion already, but the Soldier trusts that James knows that because Lukin is turning around again and it is time to focus on the mission. With a wave of his hand, Lukin signals the Soldier to move forward and observe the objects resting on the cart. An array of knives and pistols are set out, along with their matching holsters, leaving the Soldier with his choice of the weapons.

“Take only what you need. Do not forget that it must look like an accident,” Lukin reminds him slowly, as if he is speaking to a child.

He suspects that the urge to roll his eyes does not belong entirely to James.

Since he can’t complete this mission with a single bullet through the target’s forehead, the Soldier passes up the long-range weapons, instead focusing on some that he can use for close combat. In fact, only two weapons are worth taking on such a low-contact mission. The first that he grabs is a gun, because it is a bad idea to be caught without one. While the new Glock does catch his eye, he decides to go with something that he knows is reliable - the SIG Sauer P220. Once that is strapped into a holster, he arms himself with what are truly his weapons of choice.

 _You don’t need to take **all** of the knives,_ James comments drily.

Electing to ignore him, the Soldier grabs a single Gerber Mark II and slips it into one of the the sheaths that is built into the back of his vest. That is all he should need, but he finds himself chewing at his lip anxiously. It doesn’t feel like enough. _One more,_ he decides, and slips a second knife into the next sheath.

“Are you ready?” Lukin asks, raising his eyebrows and giving the soldier a once-over.

 _No, I’d actually rather not murder this old man, sir,_ James replies, as if their handler could actually hear them.

“Yes, sir,” the Soldier responds mechanically.

 _Don’t cause problems,_ the Soldier commands firmly. _I am in charge. You are nothing but a voice in my head._

Lukin nods, “Then go, the transport vehicle is waiting. They will give you post-mission instructions on the way to the drop-off point.”

 _Just off to another day at work, killing more innocent people,_ James narrates bitterly. _Don’t you care that you’re murdering a helpless old man and his wife?_

 _No._ the Soldier replies coldly.

James has nothing to say to that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and I hope to see you soon for the second part!
> 
> I'm [summerpacifist](http://summerpacifist.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, come visit and say hello!
> 
>  **6/8/16 EDIT** \- I will not be writing the second chapter I was considering writing.


End file.
